Throughout the month of October B O D Y will be publishing poetry by poets from across Britain, Scotland, Wales & Ireland.
Because the Wounded Child crooned in my ear, / ‘You cunt. You are the fuck-up in all this. / The Man will help you leave. But first come here. / The Woman in the Dress would like a kiss.’
Where – aimlessly – did a guy like this / get hold of a thing like that, the mercenary wonders, though. / (A lovely piece: true vintage, if it’s a day.)...
I have been easily mistaken / by the perhaps red eyes of this, / a small fly, for a side of bacon, / cheese, old fruit or piece of piss.